Song of the Week

These Are Days by 10,000 Maniacs. Thanks Olivia for uplifting this song.

To be part of the miracles you see in every hour
You'll know it's true that you are blessed and lucky
It's true that you
Are touched by something
That will grow and bloom in you

Updates

Hello! I don’t have many updates other than that we are really excited to have our Antifascist Drunk(ish) History Show THIS Saturday! There are still online tickets available, buy those if you want a fun cozy and interesting evening watching online with us! Tickets are $10-$30. Otherwise we are sold out for our in-person tickets at Bryant Lake Bowl. Below are some reflections on my martial arts practice, and an entry I wrote for my dojo’s journal which will be published this year.

Yoisho

I’ll start with a story of feeling foolish because that’s where learning begins. So, we’re practicing with our bokkens, and learning how to use a bokken feels complicated to me. It feels this way because in 1942 the FBI stole my family’s sword, which had been passed down for many generations. Every time I go to aikido, I’m trying to reclaim something that was stolen from me. At the same time I am trying to unlearn Japanese imperialism which has brutally murdered and tortured so many people in Asia. Morihei Ueshiba, who is credited with being the founder of aikido, was first introduced to me as a war criminal. I still need to learn more about him, and with that, I was in a freeze about learning aikido for a long time.

To add another layer, sometimes I feel shame arise as a Japanese person who has so much to learn about Japanese protocol, culture, and language. For example, at the end of my first weapons class, a kind and gentle peer pulled me aside. “What did I do wrong?” I thought to myself. They leaned in. Cupped their hand to their mouth. Then they whispered, “Your pants. They're backwards.” A moment to blush about. 

The nice thing is, I’m starting to feel more competent and, more importantly, more confident in my body. Last week I was deep in the woods and fairly isolated when a man approached me. He told me I looked familiar, and asked if we knew each other. He got closer. I bristled. I told him we didn’t know each other. My tone implied he should keep walking. I felt my body rehearsing what I’ve learned over the last six months at aikido. Rather than feeling a lack of what I knew, I felt waves of what I did know. That was a powerful thing to feel. I felt a sense of cool relief and adrenaline trickle down my fingertips. The relief of knowing the basics, that if I really tried, I might be able to get someone bigger than me to the ground.

Since Trump came to power, like so many of us, I’ve felt my body holding more tension and fear. This fear is informed by the intergenerational trauma and ensuing discrimination me and my family experienced from the internment of Japanese Americans from 1942-1946 and since. This timeframe encompasses the last time the Alien Enemies Act was invoked. With its reinvocation this year, it’s clear how easily history can repeat itself. Spin some lies, round people up, encourage neighbors to fight each other, you know the drill. Thank goodness I also know neighbors will defend each other, though those stories are often erased. 

Last week I saw a clip of Japanese American, Rudy Tokiwa, about how the day after Pearl Harbor he and his brother were harassed by some racist white boys. As he was about to enter the frey, he heard a voice tell him, “Step aside Tokiwa. This isn’t your fight.” Unbeknownst to him, the entire football team had come down the road behind them and were ready to help. They took on the fight instead. 

Though he and his brother were still blamed for the fight which ensued, I can’t help but cry a little when I hear this story. When I feel scared, I ground into these stories of love and solidarity. I also make up some of my own. I’ve been feeling into alternative endings when it comes to being rounded up; a vision I’ve come up with to resource myself that is fueled by hope, by the gift of embodiment from my aikido practice, and a little imagination. In this dream, hundreds of martial artists and other warriors in our community gather in Powderhorn Park. I imagine they are the warrior-leaders we all need– attuned and at-the-ready in a way that sends chills up my spine. They form a circle around the people they are trying to take away. There is a sense of peace and safety that fills the land and sky as they hold their ground. This image came to me shortly after joining aikido, and it’s been really helpful to revisit now and again. 

My self-protection is obstinate and tenacious. I respect it as I have learned to respect my body.  In this case, my self-protection delayed my entrance into aikido. While I wish I had joined the dojo sooner, I was hesitant to engage in Japanese cultural activities in the midwest, both due to the barriers I experience around belonging, and disdain for romanticized Japanese imperialist culture. Many Japanese activities in Minnesota have a veneer of white-washedness that makes me cringe a little, sometimes a lot, or they seem to be, for the most part, unaccountable to the impacts of Japanese imperialism on other Asian folks. Now that I have joined, aikido has helped me feel safer while also helping me grapple with important issues of imperialism that were easier to avoid before joining.

In the spirit of self-reflection: Are there concrete walls in you standing in the way of doing something you want? Do they want to soften? Harden? What would be possible if you played with that? What support do you need to get there?  It’s these numbed-out places in the body that often kick my butt. They are also the most rewarding when they soften and come alive again. 

My great auntie EJ, who is 95 years old and lives in Honolulu, is the funniest person I know. Every time she moves to stand up from her chair she grimaces and groans, “YOISHO!” Many years ago I asked her what that meant. She responded, “It’s what you say when you need to muster a lot of effort! Get your konjo (she pats her belly) going! I need it to get out of my chair because– I’M OLD.” Konjo means willpower, guts, spirit. I’m grateful that aikido has helped me find some more of my konjo. Here’s an invitation: Let’s try and find our konjo today. Use it to generate welcoming and embracing the complexity we need. The kind of complexity that fuels dreams about people protecting each other, navigating our histories of being both the oppressed and the oppressor, and maybe…even having some fun together? Yoisho. 

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xoxo Eiko